


Got Your Goat

by IndigoNight



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Goats, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Barnes shifts and at first Clint thinks it’s impatience but he squints and studies Barnes a little closer and it’s… awkwardness? Uncertainty? “Steve said you grew up on a farm,” Barnes elaborates, like that isn’t a non sequitur completely out of left field.“Um… sort of?”Barnes nods decisively. “I need your help.” He turns around and starts walking, adding over his shoulder, “come.”Clint blinks blankly at the Winter Soldier’s retreating back for a long moment. Then, as per usual, his curiosity wins out over his sense of self preservation and he starts trotting down the sidewalk after Barnes. “Where are we going?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138
Collections: BBB Special Events





	Got Your Goat

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for the [Bucky Barnes Bingo](https://buckybarnesbingo.tumblr.com) Flash Bingo "Goats" square.
> 
> Huge thanks to all of my discord pals who so patiently encouraged me and listened to me whining about this fic <3

The first time Clint notices the Winter Soldier staring at him, he doesn’t think a whole lot of it. Mostly because lurking in corners and staring creepily appears to be Barnes’ primary hobby; at least, that’s pretty much all Clint’s seen him do in the several months since Steve brought him back to the Tower.

So Clint shrugs it off and goes on about his day. Except, it happens again. And then it keeps happening. And pretty soon every time they’re in the same room Clint has the eerie sensation of dark, shadowed eyes boring into his back.

Finally he gives in. “Hey Nat?” he asks, leaning a little too far into her personal space and talking out of the side of his mouth while she mixes them fresh drinks behind the common room bar. He keeps his eyes on the room at large with what is probably a miserable failure of an attempt at acting casual; over by the pool table Steve, Sam, and Thor are having a rousing competition of some sort, while Barnes lurks - and stares - behind them. “Did I do something to piss Barnes off?”

She pauses, gaze flicking up from her drink to Clint and then over to Barnes. “Not that I know of,” she says placidly.

“I’m pretty sure he’s plotting to kill me,” Clint insists, clutching the glass she hands him a little too hard and determinedly ignoring the way that his voice pitches just a tiny bit too high.

She raises an eyebrow and there’s that look in her eyes that says she’s laughing at him. She makes her way back around the bar, pausing just long enough to kiss him on the cheek and murmur, “you’re being paranoid,” before she makes her way over to hustle the boys at pool.

Clint huddles against the bar and sips his drink. He doesn’t realize that  _ he _ is staring until, for just a split second, his eyes meet a pair of dark blue ones and he nearly spills the remains of his drink all over himself.

After that, Clint beats a hasty retreat.  _ Paranoid _ , he tells himself fervently,  _ you’re just being paranoid _ .

For three days he almost convinces himself that’s true.

***

“I need your help.”

Clint lets out a shriek that is definitely appropriate and not at all way too loud and way too high pitched. He also, thankfully, does not drop his desperately needed cup of coffee. He hadn’t even seen the Winter Soldier approach, he was just  _ there _ in the middle of the sidewalk in front of him, an immovable boulder against the midmorning crowd.

Clint clutches his coffee and blinks at Barnes blankly for way too long. It occurs to him, distantly, that this might be the first time he’s heard Barnes speak; his voice is sort of surprising, deep and gravelly but not unpleasant. “What?” Clint eventually manages to say eloquently.

Barnes shifts and at first Clint thinks it’s impatience but he squints and studies Barnes a little closer and it’s… awkwardness? Uncertainty? “Steve said you grew up on a farm,” Barnes elaborates, like that isn’t a non sequitur completely out of left field.

“Um… sort of?”

Barnes nods decisively. “I need your help.” He turns around and starts walking, adding over his shoulder, “come.”

Clint blinks blankly at the Winter Soldier’s retreating back for a long moment. Then, as per usual, his curiosity wins out over his sense of self preservation and he starts trotting down the sidewalk after Barnes. “Where are we going?” 

***

Where they’re going turns out to be some sort of dilapidated warehouse.

_ Great place for a murder _ , Clint thinks absently as he trails after Barnes.  _ I mean if I was going to murder, I’d probably bring someone here. _

Barnes strides around the side of the building and down an alley to where a rusty side door is mostly hidden from the street. To Clint’s confused surprise, he fishes a small key out of his pocket, unlocking the padlock on the thick length of chain holding the door closed. He unwinds the chain deftly and yanks the door open, gesturing Clint in.

Clint hesitates, staring at Barnes holding the warped old door open with his metal hand and looking at Clint with a blank expression.

_ You’re an idiot _ , a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Natasha says.

Clint considers the shadowy interior of the building and mentally shrugs.  _ YOLO _ , he thinks back.

Barnes follows him inside, pulling the door shut behind them with an unsettling grind of metal. For a second it’s too dark to see, but then Barnes flicks a switch and several dim fluorescent bulbs buzz to life. They’re at the end of a narrow hallway with what appears to have once been cramped offices on either side. Without a word, Barnes leads the way deeper into the building, passing by the empty, doorless offices and turning around a corner until the hallway comes to an end. 

What looks like a foraged piece of plywood is braced against the remains of a broken door and secured by another length of chain. Again, Barnes removes the chain with smooth movements that speak of practiced familiarity. Behind the plywood, the bottom half of the original door is still in the frame and Barnes simply vaults over it, swinging himself through the opening with easy, fluid grace.

Clint has absolutely no idea what he was actually expecting, but a chorus of enthusiastic  _ baaaa _ s is definitely not it. Unable to resist, he lurches forward to peer over the remains of the door and finds… goats. Three goats, to be specific, and they’re either still babies or of the pygmy variety. They’re also crowding around Barnes and practically vibrating with excitement.

Slowly, cautiously, Clint pulls himself through the opening and into the room as Barnes leads the little herd away from the door. Glancing around, the room is a fairly large open space, clearly just as abandoned as the rest of the building except for the fact that the floor is covered in a thick layer of fresh hay, and on one side a pile of debris looks like it’s been assembled in a purposeful way to create a sort of lean to. Shafts of surprisingly bright sunlight filter in through skylights in the ceiling that are clouded and dingy around the edges but have definitely been wiped clean recently.

Clint watches as Barnes crosses the room, somehow managing not to trip over the three goats dancing at his feet and bleeting enthusiastically at him. He pauses by two long basins, one filled with water and the other with what looks like a mixture of grains. Apparently satisfied, he continues making his way over to the center of the room where a somewhat haphazard looking pile of crates, pallets, and… old tires? are stacked.

Barnes settles himself on one of the crates and opens his backpack, pulling out a small clump of bananas. Clint can only stare in amazed confusion as the  _ goddamned Winter Soldier _ starts breaking off pieces of banana and gently feeding them to the three small goats while they scramble over top of each other at his feet. He’s leaning forward, favoring each of them with affectionate scritches in between bites of banana. As Clint drifts unconsciously forward, he can just barely catch the sound of Barnes murmuring soft words to them in what Clint thinks might be Romanian. The sharp blank expression that Clint is so used to seeing on Barnes’ face is gone and in its place is something incongruously soft, something gentle and fond as he leans down and presses a kiss to the brown goat’s nose.

_ Oh no _ , Clint thinks with a confused flutter in his stomach,  _ he’s adorable _ . “Uhhh,” Clint says stupidly. Almost without realizing it, he’s crossed the room until he’s only a few feet away from the small, wiggly party.

Barnes freezes, almost like he forgot Clint was there, and his face starts to flatten out again. Except one of the goats picks exactly that moment to get impatient for its next treat and nips pointedly at Barnes’ fingers, the metal ones. Barnes focuses back on the goat and mutters something that Clint thinks means  _ troublemaker  _ in a soft, chiding tone. He gently nudges the goat away, but it bleets loudly before charging back at him, butting into his knee with its furry head. Barnes rocks back on his perch a fraction of a second too late, as though he’s faking it, and he actually  _ laughs _ , a low, warm sound that’s somehow shocking and also fits him perfectly.

Clint thinks his jaw might have actually hit the floor.

Barnes wraps his arm around the goat, semi-effectively holding it still against his body as he gives in and feeds it the demanded treat. He glances back up at Clint, his loose hair falling into his eyes. “That’s Asshole, Dipshit, and this is Turd,” Barnes says, pointing in turn at a white goat, a light brown one, and finally the white one with black spots cradled in his arms.

“Holy shit,” Clint answers, entirely unable to control his mouth. “I mean, uh, cool? So, you have goats. Um, why do you have- Where did you get goats?”

Barnes scowls, dropping his gaze as he scratches Turd’s floppy ears. “I liberated them from a smuggler. He did not treat them right.”

Unfortunately, Clint knows exactly the sort of person Barnes is talking about. “Yeah, right. Well, good job I guess. But… why am I here?”

Barnes hesitates, licking his lips; and Clint definitely doesn’t get super distracted staring at the pink tip of his tongue swiping over those plush lips. “Dipshit,” he says after a moment, gesturing with his head toward the brown goat who’s nosing at his backpack in hopes of unearthing more treats, “I think she’s sick.”

Clint’s frowns and he instinctively gives the goat a better look. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He knows very little about goats, but at first glance she looks fine to him.

“She’s been acting-” his mouth presses into a thin line, eyes shifting around like he’s looking for the right word, “weird.”

Clint practically feels his own eyebrow hit his hairline. “Weird?” he repeats dubiously.

Barnes huffs like he’s exasperated and waves his hand in a gesture that doesn’t elucidate things at all. “Picky about her food, sleeping too much, snapping at the other two.”

It occurs to Clint distantly that Barnes has been caring for these goats long enough to notice what is and isn’t normal for them. He sighs but figures he’s already here and cautiously approaches the goat. “I don’t really know what you expect me to do,” he says, even as he squats down to get a better look at Dipshit. “I’m not a vet or anything, even if I did know about goats.”

Dipshit jerks her head back when he reaches out to pet her head, but she doesn’t try to bite him, so he takes that as a win. She sniffs at him and he could swear that the look she gives him is suspicious. But in Clint’s experience, the same basic behaviors apply to most animals, so he holds still, his hand outstretched in offer, and waits. After a few seconds of sniffing and shifting back and forth skittishly, Dipshit butts her head against his hand and he grins. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he croons, “let me have a look at you, huh?” He scratches her ears until she relaxes a little and paces closer to him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing or looking for, but he runs his hand over her head and down her neck, feeling blindly for anything that sticks out. Her hair is coarse under his hand, but neat and well groomed.

“Did you really think I was going to kill you?” Barnes asks, his voice mild and curious. His hair is falling loose around his shoulders and he’s still cuddling a goat, but his gaze as he watches Clint is laser focused and his soft hoodie does nothing to hide the incredible power contained in his body. It’s an uncomfortably attractive juxtaposition.

Clint freezes, feeling awkwardly exposed under the intensity of Barnes’ dark blue eyes and it takes him a moment to actually process the implication held in those words. He opens his mouth then closes it again wordlessly, but his face must show enough of his confusion anyway.

One corner of Barnes’ lips quirk up and Clint thinks he looks almost… shy? “I have good ears,” he explains with a one shouldered shrug.

Clint swallows and focuses back on Dipshit, if for no other reason than to avoid meeting those too bright, too sharp eyes. “No, I guess not,” he admits, embarrassed. “I mean, not that I’d really blame you if you tried, most people do at some point. But I’m pretty sure Steve at least sort of likes me, and I figure you’d at least hesitate to upset him.”

When Barnes doesn’t respond, Clint can’t help himself from subtly glancing at him; Barnes’ brows are drawn together in a deep frown, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, and something complicated moving across his face like he’s having a hard time processing Clint’s words. “But you still followed me,” he says eventually.

Clint shrugs uncomfortably and focuses back on the goat. “I’m notoriously lacking in self preservation,” he dismisses, but his voice doesn’t quite manage his usual level of careless flippancy and he decides not to examine that too closely.

Fortunately, Dipshit provides him with the perfect change of subject. He’d been running his hand along her side, and there does seem to be some kind of bulge in her belly. He presses his hand gently against it, wondering if maybe there’s some kind of blockage, when he feels something under his hand move. Something that feels suspiciously like a kick.

“Uh,” he says. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, but I think you’re going to be a goat dad.”

Barnes freezes, blinking at him dumbly. “What?”

Clint pulls his hand away before Dipshit can get annoyed and stands carefully. “I think she’s pregnant,” he clarifies, even though he’s pretty sure Barnes understood him.

Barnes stares for a long minute, then shifts his gaze to Dipshit. He clucks his tongue and she trots over to him, nuzzling his outstretched hand. “Oh,” he says quietly.

“I mean, a professional really should take a look at her, but… yeah.” Clint fidgets, unsure what to do with himself. “Congratulations? I’m sorry?” he offers awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Barnes answers, like he hasn’t even really heard Clint.

Clint wonders if he should leave. Technically, he’s done what Barnes brought him here to do after all, and Barnes doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to him any more. But before he makes it more than a few steps Barnes’ makes a sound like he’s choking. 

When Clint glances back, he finds Barnes pale and wide eyed. “I don’t know anything about babies,” he says, sounding a little panicked.

“Uh,” Clint answers, because the Winter Soldier panicking is not something he wants to see. “I’m pretty sure it’ll still be a goat, just… smaller.” As per usual when Clint says something like that to someone, Barnes’ face immediately flattens into an incredulous  _ how are you such a dumbass? _ expression and he seems to forget about his brewing freak out. Clint grins a little and shrugs. “I think you’re going to need some actual help.”

***

Barnes is stubbornly resistant to the idea of asking anyone else for help with the goats, which Clint finds both confounding and a little flattering. Over the course of the next week he finds himself suckered into spending most of his free time at the warehouse, and consequently, with Bucky. He isn’t even entirely sure when Barnes shifts into Bucky for him, but somehow by the end of the week it almost feels like they’ve known each other forever.

For all that Bucky’s been a silent, brooding presence around the Tower, around the goats Clint finds him to be gentle and friendly with a wicked sense of humor. The change is sort of dizzying. And Clint definitely isn’t developing a crush.

But as much fun as it turns out to be, watching Bucky laugh and wrestle playfully with the goats, Clint really isn’t interested in adding goat midwife to his resume. Fortunately, some kind of incident with what Clint is pretty sure was actually just a group of bored teens, renders the point moot.

When Bucky emerges from the elevator on the main floor of the Tower with his little herd in tow, Clint thinks he might die from laughter. It’s hard to say which is funnier, Steve’s reaction to finding out Bucky’s been keeping this kind of secret from him, or Tony’s reaction to emerging from his workshop and finding three goats lounging on his couch. Thankfully, only Natasha seems to notice Clint’s lack of surprise, although he doesn’t really look forward to her cornering him about it later.

None of them ever get a clear story out of Bucky, but apparently whatever happened with the teenagers, Bucky’s deemed the security of the warehouse compromised. And as hilarious as a bunch of rambunctious goats unleashed on the Tower is, they really can’t stay there for long; even if everyone blatantly ignores Tony’s blustering complaints about the “unhygienic demonic menaces.” But Tony must have called Pepper in for reinforcements, which turns out to be a good thing since with her usual brutally efficient competency it takes her less than six hours to find and thoroughly vet a small farm only a couple of hours out of the city that’s willing to house three - soon to be four - more goats.

Bucky still isn’t happy about it, but - presumably after conducting his own thorough background check - he reluctantly agrees. The two women who own the farm are nice and surprisingly patient with Bucky’s hovering and fussing; or they’re just incredibly smart because somehow within an hour Clint finds himself helping Bucky rethatch one of the large, open shelters in the goat pasture and promising to come back next week to help with a laundry list of other projects.

***

When they get word that Dipshit has gone into labor, Bucky panics and Clint forgets not to let himself find it adorable. After ten minutes of watching Bucky chase himself in circles trying to find his keys, Clint takes pity on him and gently steers him onto the quinjet. It’s hardly the stupidest thing they’ve used it for, and Clint’s not about to spend two hours in a car watching Bucky vibrate out of his skin.

Steve, who still tends to hover uncontrollably whenever Bucky loses his shit even a little bit, insists on coming, and Sam just trails after Steve with a delighted grin. Natasha, because she’s Natasha, is just already on the jet when they get there. Tony appears just before they take off, dragging Bruce along with him, and declares that since it’s technically his jet anyway he can come if he wants to. And, of course, Thor isn’t about to be left out.

So they all end up invading the farm, but only Bucky and Clint are allowed into the barn where the birth is happening; presumably, the rest of them get suckered into chores, based on the past few weeks of Clint’s life. Clint doesn’t entirely  _ want _ to be in the barn where the birth is happening. But when they hear Dipshit’s pained bleeting as they approach Bucky instinctively reaches out and clutches Clint’s hand, so Clint’s a little busy trying to get his heart out of his throat as he’s being dragged inside.

Despite Bucky’s anxiety, the birth goes smoothly and a few hours later Dipshit is snoozing comfortably while Bucky wraps the new goat kid up in an old towel and cradles it in his lap. Clint’s pretty sure he looks like a dopy idiot as he grins at Bucky cooing over the tiny goat. 

“So what are you going to name him?” he asks, scooting over the scattered hay bedding so that he can lean over Bucky’s shoulder to scratch the kid’s ears.

Bucky tilts his head, considering. “Not sure,” he admits. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Hm, Fuck Nugget?” he suggests.

Bucky bursts out laughing so hard that Dipshit lifts her head to glare at him. “Perfect,” he agrees once he’s gotten his breath back. The smile that he turns on Clint is almost blinding, his cheeks flushed and his bright eyes dancing. A strand of hair has escaped from his messy bun, dangling against his cheek in a loose curl, and Clint catches himself just before he reaches out to brush it back from Bucky’s face.

Clint bites his lip, thinking that he should pull back, should deflect and change the conversation. But… he can’t. His heart is fluttering embarrassingly in his chest and there’s just something magnetic about Bucky’s gaze. He watches Bucky’s throat bob as he swallows, sees it when Bucky’s gaze flicks down to his lips and back up again. But he’s still surprised when Bucky leans a little closer.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, and suddenly his voice is low and husky. Clint swears he can feel the faint puff of Bucky’s breath against his face.

Clint doesn’t pull back, even though he thinks he probably should. But he does scrunch his nose up and shake his head a little. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, “Dipshit did all the work.”

Bucky snorts but refuses to be put off. “You helped,” he clarifies softly. “I’m glad I trusted you.”

“Oh,” Clint says dumbly. His throat feels dry. “Me too.”

Bucky licks his lips.

Clint stares. He feels like somehow they’ve started playing chicken and he doesn’t know how that happened but he isn’t about to lose.

It feels like they sit there for an eternity, staring at each other from a couple inches apart and breathing each other’s air. Then, finally, Bucky makes an impatient huff and closes the scant distance, pressing his lips against Clint’s in a hungry kiss.


End file.
